


Anteida

by HORSEYGAL101



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-30 13:18:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14497818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HORSEYGAL101/pseuds/HORSEYGAL101
Summary: Tyler Brixton has never been one for any of that 'chosen one', 'prophecy' kind of crap, but when two brothers and an angel show up and drag her back to their reality, she realizes she may have a true place in the world after all. One which may require her to fight off a pre-biblical cosmic entity. God, when did her life get so weird?





	1. Prologue: Myer's Meat Packing

**Author's Note:**

> This idea and character has been bouncing around in my head for a long time, so I really wanted to write it out. Also, disclaimer, this is my first experience writing fanfic ever, so apologies in advance.
> 
> Also, I don't own supernatural or any of the characters or anything, and any locations I may have used I have never been to, just pointed at a map and started writing. This descriptions do not reflect the location itself (I don't think anyway)
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy :)

The ‘old factory on the hill’, as the locals call it, has an incredibly dark history. In fact, it’s quite surprising that it hasn’t gotten more visitors in the past. You know, those conspiracy theorist types who come poking around for ghosts and other paranormal activity. That doesn’t mean the place isn’t haunted, but the creepiness factor of the place is enough to make any curious soul brave enough want to take a look.

The 6 acre spread of property up on some hill in the middle of nowhere in Hutton, Louisiana used to be owned by a man named Glenn Myers, who is still known to be one of the most successful meat-packing tycoons in the south. I bet you didn’t even know there was even enough people for there to be a whole category of ‘meat-packing tycoons’. Well, you learn something new everyday.

Glenn was born into poverty. His parents tried their best to feed their children, but with very limited resources and 5 mouths to feed, he usually went to bed hungry. But they always say that the people who have it the worst work the hardest, and in Glenn’s case it was incredibly accurate. He graduated the top of his class at his local public high school and moved on to Yale, a feat never done before at Hutton High. He graduated from college, and, realizing his ‘true calling for meat’ (is that even a thing?), he settled down in his hometown to start a meat-packing company. Pretty soon, his understanding of business and the market led him to the top.

The factory was a blessing for the town. The oh-so-creatively-named ‘Meyer’s Meat Packing’ provided jobs for over half the population of Hutton, and actually made the town almost double in size. Business was booming for nearly forty years, until the accident.

To this day, it is still a mystery what happened to him. The official story says heart attack, but people still speculate other possibilities. Glenn was in perfect health, and many argue that he never should have had a heart attack in the first place, let alone die from it. There is no family medical history of heart problems, and he showed no signs of it until they found him lying dead while conducting an inspection in one of the warehouses. The theories, however, remain simple theories. People speculate, but have never gone further than that, in fear that it might be true. That the ghost of Glenn Myers haunts the creepy old factory. They’re true of course, but people don’t know that. And they would rather not find out.

The factory itself was abandoned pretty much as soon as they found Glenn’s body. He had no immediate family, as he was still a bachelor in his sixties. Nobody else wanted it, as they heard the rumors, so the factory was closed off and forgotten about. 

The maze of buildings and concrete is enclosed in a field of barbed wire fencing, a clear sign of Glenn’s paranoia in his old age. The place is still incredibly clean, no random junk littered anywhere. And for a supposedly haunted place, it makes it slightly off putting. The surrounding ten miles or so is all farm land, which is very rarely used, and the structure almost never gets any noise at all, minus the birds. But even they are wary of the place, and stay a good mile or so away from it. Perhaps they sense the uncomfortable atmosphere, or there’s just nothing going on in that direction, but they choose to stay very well away. It’s hard to blame them.

The dirt road, which is the only way to get to the place, is overgrown with bushes and weeds. There’s nothing else down that way, so nobody has used the road in years. Nobody really seems to mind.

The lack of wildlife, or really, any life, makes the place and the surrounding area disturbingly quiet. The only sound that permeates the place is the wind, which howls through the open hallways and creates one of the most eerie sounds. This is probably where the ghost rumor got started.

The point is, the entire area hasn’t heard a single noise in decades. Until now.

A blood-curdling scream erupts from somewhere in the complex’s depths. It echos on the empty concrete walls and bounces off the ceilings. It carries through the forest, sending the nearby birds careening into the sky in fright with indignant squawks. 

If anyone had been around to hear it, they might have come running, to see the source of the noise. Hutton, after all, is home to some very nice people who would have been more than willing to help. But alas, the town has shrunk enormously in the past few decades, and there are less and less people in Hutton every day. And either way, it is still very unlikely that anyone would be around. Aside from the shrinking town, it has also been moving steadily away from the factory. It used to be in the center of everything, until some rich farmer bought up the surrounding land and the factory fell into disrepair. Now there is not a soul who even steps foot within a ten mile radius, and though the scream is loud, it doesn’t carry that far.

The unexpected noise originates from the basement of the main building. It used to be a storage room, with a coolant system and everything. The system has long been dismantled, so the hot summer air still manages to find its way into the room. It is long and expansive, with incredibly thick walls. The only opening is the door at the top, which has been carelessly left open, not that it’s a problem. 

The only other light source is a single dim bulb hanging from the ceiling. It flickers and sputters with age, fighting out its last moments. It isn’t much light, but it is enough to illuminate the two people underneath.

One of the men is tied down to a chair. His face is cut up and bruised, and his blond hair is matted with dried blood, turning it a muddy brown color. He has dirt smudged all over his face and neck, and his shirts and pants are barely recognizable as clothes, being completely torn to shreds, their only purpose essentially covering the necessary parts. 

The other figure is difficult to make out, staying just far enough away from his hostage so as not to be seen quite so clearly. It is possible to make out his dark hair and cunning blue eyes, however, along with a slight build and tall frame. He is circling around the chair, silver blade in hand, covered in fresh blood. The man wipes it off slowly with a towel as his captive pants, still recovering from the latest swipe of a blade. The color is fading, but the fresh cut on the blond man’s thigh is leaking a bluish substance along with the blood. 

“What… the hell… do you want?” The blond’s voice is surprisingly calm and collected, lacking a very human characteristic that is nearly impossible to place, but just simply sounds off. That doesn’t stop the pure malice from leaking into his tone however, as he practically spits out the sentence like venom.

“I’m sorry, my brother, but I’m afraid I can’t answer that.” The man in shadows replies, speaking in a similar tone, but perhaps with more lilt and emotion, a much more human sound. “I do have an end goal, however I couldn’t resist making you suffer first.”

“Are you going to kill me?” The captive asks, almost nonchalantly, as if he were simply asking a stranger on the street for the time of day.

“Eventually. It would be a mercy to make it quick though, and you don’t deserve any mercy.” This man spoke with malice, the pure hatred for the man in the chair palpable in the air.  

“Why… me?” 

“Oh, well it’s not simply just  _ you _ in particular, Erathaol, though you don’t exactly help matters. It’s simply the angels in general. They must all be destroyed. ” The dark-haired man, slowly circling the chair, has come around to the front again, and to add, drags the blade in his hand across the other man’s, Erathaol’s, chest. The blond screams in pain again, the blue smoke seeping out of the room, only to dissipate into the air. When the pain ebbs slightly from Erathaol’s face, he continues to talk.

“But you… you’re one of us, Kemuel. We are- are- brothers!” The man Erathaol throws more emotion into his words, reaching a topic clearly closer to him than before. “We fought together! I trusted you! Why-”

“We  _ were _ brothers. Once.” Kemuel cuts the other man off by leaning forward right into his captive’s face, practically spitting on the other man. “My loyalties lie elsewhere. And sadly, brother, I must put them in front of your life.”

“Why?” Erathaol’s words come weak, hopeless, and sad. The spark of defiance leaves his eyes, realizing and accepting his inevitable fate. 

“It is her will.” Kemuel states simply, like it is a known fact. “Do not worry, brother. Your death will not be in vain.” 

Erathaol tilts his head in confusion. “What are you planning, Kemuel?” The captor simply stretches up, turns, and walks away. His form disappears in the dark for a few seconds, and Erathaol simply stares after him. After a few moments, Kemuel comes back, holding a small glass vial only a little bit bigger than his thumb. He holds it up to the slowly-dying bulb above their heads and studies it, the way the crystal reflects the beams and admiring the waves of light it sends across the room. 

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

When his captor doesn’t elaborate, Erathaol prompts, “What is?”

Kemuel looks down at his victim. “How enormous and uncomprehending the true form of an angel is, yet it’s grace can fit into such a tiny vial.”

Realization begins to dawn on the other man’s face, because all of a sudden his eyes grow wide and he’s squirming around, trying to get out of the chains covered in odd symbols. “N-No! Kemuel, you can’t! You know what things an angel’s grace can do! Especially ours! This is dangerous, what are you going to do with it-”

Kemuel presses a finger to the other man’s lips. “Shhh. Don’t worry about it. All you need to know is that it will go towards an incredibly worthy cause. I promise. Your grace will serve an important purpose. Antiel will rise.”

If possible, Erathaol’s eyes widen even more, and he stops moving to simply stare with opened mouth horror at the other man. “No. Please. Don’t let my grace be used for that. Anything but that.” His voice is barely a whisper, but still audible in the silence of the room.

“Don’t worry, brother. I promise this cause is just. Antiel will be reborn, and there will be peace on Earth.”

“You’re deluded.” Erathaol replies, though less like an insult and more like a depressing fact. 

“No, brother. I am enlightened. I am sorry you cannot see the light as well.” The man raises his blade, to the chanting of a whispered  _ No, no, no, no  _ from the other man. “For Antiel.” 

The blade swings down upon the throat of the blond, slicing easily through skin. The light slowly drains from his eyes as a large amount of that same blue smoke as before protrudes from the wound. Kemuel holds the small vial up to the blue substance and catches every bit into the small container before corking it holding it up to the light. “I’m sorry brother, really. Your sacrifice will not be in vain.” And with that, the man still drenched in shadows turns away from the scene, climbing the stairs and slamming the thick metal door behind him, leaving the corpse of the blond man sitting in the chair. The dim bulb gives one final effort before dying completely, cloaking the figure and the rest of the room in black.


	2. Chapter 1

**18 Years Later**

The car ride is relatively uneventful. That is until the angel appears in the backseat.

Now, many people would probably shit themselves, stop the car, and run away screaming. For Sam and Dean, however, this is a regular occurrence. So instead of fainting, they both resort to simply jumping about a foot in the air, possibly drawing a squeak from Dean, though he would deny it until his dying breath.

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean’s voice comes out angry, but the underlying shaking shows just how much the angel’s unexpected appearance got to him. “We gave you a phone for a reason, you know.” Though Cas now has the device, he still rarely uses it, most likely because he doesn’t really know how to use it, and he’s still very uncomfortable with modern technology. Dean waits a few more moments, trying to even out his breaths. It’s not until he sees Sam turned around, staring at the backseat in concern that he even realizes something’s wrong.

Cas is hunched over in pain, with his hands reaching up to cover his ears. His eyes are screwed shut, and he’s doubled over, breathing heavily. “Cas?! Hey, buddy, you ok?” He knows it’s a pointless question, considering it’s very rare that the angel is ever in pain, and it is still really odd to see.

He quickly maneuvers the Impala over to the side of the road and puts in in park so he can turn to see his friend. When Dean finally manages to look at Cas, the pain seems to be ebbing slowly, the tension draining out of his shoulders. The angel sits up, opening his eyes groggily. He looks around, distorted for a second, still panting heavily. “Cas?” Dean manages to croak out. Both of them are staring at Cas like he just came from outer space, at a complete loss of what to say. It’s not every day that your friend who just happens to be an interdimensional wave of celestial intent gets a migraine, and it is really unnerving to see.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas tips his head in acknowledgment as if nothing really happened. Dean begs to differ, still looking at the man with eyes as wide as an owl.

“What the hell was that?”

“Ah, yes. That was angel radio.” Cas says simply.

Both Dean and his brother let out a breath they didn’t even realize they were holding. Dean turns back around to face the front, no longer worried about any immediate danger. “Oh, ok. You sure you’re ok? You didn’t look so good there.”

“I’m fine Dean.” And Dean believes him. Cas’ breathing has evened out, and he seems more or less back to normal. Or, at least, whatever’s normal by Cas’ standards.

“So?” Sam prompts. When Cas simply does his stupid little head tilt thing, Sam sighs and continues. “What do the angels want now?”

“Want? They don’t really want anything at the moment. Though there is something going on.”

“Clearly,” Dean interjects. “Well, then what the hell’s gotten them so excited.”

“I’m not sure. That’s why I came to you. I need your help.” By now Cas has leaned forward in his seat so the two men in the front don’t have to crane their necks to see him. The angel looks back and forth between the two with apprehension, showing just how big this ‘something’ could be.

In a much more serious tone, Dean responds to him. “Yeah. Yeah, sure Cas. No problem.”

“Really?” The angel looks taken aback as if he really didn’t expect that answer.

“Yeah, of course Cas.” This time Sam answers. “We’re not busy.”

It’s the sad truth. Neither Dean nor Sam has been able to find anything resembling a job in the past few weeks, and it’s driven both of them slightly stir crazy. Dean’s probably cleaned his entire arsenal at least five times and spends most of the day just walking aimlessly around Bobby’s house, occasionally going for drives. It’s been infuriating. Even the so-called ‘job’ is just a minor disappearance in eastern Utah. It’s probably nothing supernatural, but Dean jumped at the opportunity to do anything but sit in that house all day. He’s never been so glad somebody’s most likely dead.

“Well, then. I thought it would take more convincing on my part.”

“Nope. Our calendar's all clear.” Dean responds. “So, where we starting?”

“Meet me back at Bobby’s. We are going to need his help as well.”

“No, Cas, wai-” Dean tries to stop him before he takes off, but before he can even finish his sentence, the backseat is left empty with nothing but a flutter of wings in his wake. “Damn angels.” Sam sighs as Dean pulls away from the side of the road and begins to drive in the other direction. “He’s lucky we’re only an hour away from Bobby’s. If I had to drive another day in the opposite direction I would’ve strangled the feathery bastard.” Sam snorts. “What?”

“Oh nothing.” His brother replies.

“No, seriously, what?” Dean answers, slightly exasperated.

“I don’t know Dean. We’ve barely seen Cas the past few months. He shows up and asks for help, and you still can’t stop being snarky?”

“What do you want from me, Sam? Throw him a ‘welcome back’ party?” Dean replies sarcastically.

“No need to be so defensive, Dean.”

“I’m not defensive.” Dean shoots back. “You’re… defensive…” He continues in a lame attempt at a comeback.

Sam rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying, try not to complain too much, maybe just be a little happy that he’s finally, you know, reaching out to us again?” Sam gives him his puppy dog face, and Dean sighs in defeat.

The truth is, Dean has missed the guy. Ever since they tossed Lucifer back in the box and Cas brought Sam back from the pit, they haven’t seen much of the angel. He would drop by occasionally to offer some expertise on a few cases, but other than that, he’s been away. Dean still doesn’t know where he’s been, as whenever he’s asked Cas, the other man would change the topic so fast it simply wasn’t human. Which, he supposes, is the truth. Dean does hate to admit that he’s been disappointed at the angel's absence. Especially after the whole ordeal with Lucifer, he kind of assumed they’d gotten closer. God, he feels like such a teenage girl.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Just try to be nicer to him.”

“Why? So I don’t hurt his feelings? The dude doesn’t even know what feelings are.”

Sam rolls his eyes for like the fifth time this conversation. “Yeah, I know. But it doesn’t hurt to be grateful to him sometimes, considering all the things he’s done for us.”

It’s that comment that shuts Dean up and makes him think. Because, yeah, he really should be more grateful to Cas. The guy risked his life pulling both him and Sam from hell, turned his back on heaven, his family, for Dean. He lost everything for them and is completely willing to lose even more by the sounds of it. _Damn_ , Dean thinks, _I’ve kind of been a dick_. He makes a resolution to thank the angel as soon as they get to Bobby’s

The car gets relatively silent after that, what with Dean sulking about how much of a douche he is sometimes, and Sam smirking smugly, having won this particular argument.

The silence is pretty tense all the way to Bobby’s house. When they do pull in the driveway, there hasn’t been a word uttered since the previous conversation. Both brothers heave a sigh of relief when they’re allowed to step out of the car and, hopefully, well out of “feelings-sharing” range. Dean still refuses to admit, at least out loud, what he’d been thinking about, and Sam apparently doesn’t really want to push it. Which is a really smart move on his part, Dean decides.

Dean enters the house first, his brother close on his heels. “Hey, Bobby, we’re-” Dean starts, stopping when he sees Bobby. The older man is standing at the entrance to the living room, staring dumbfounded at something within the house. “Bobby?” He looks up at Dean like he just realized who showed up.

“Did you break him?”

“What?”  
“Your angel. I think ya broke him.” Bobby turns his attention back to the living room. Dean follows his gaze. There, sitting on the couch, is Cas. He sits there, hunched over, with his eyes shut tight and hands clasped in front of his face, just thinking.

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, concerned.

“He hasn’t moved since he got here. He showed up around an hour ago, nearly gave me a heart attack, mind you. I don’t even think he’s breathed the whole time.”

“Probably not, knowing him. Angels don’t really need air, last time I checked.” Dean turns his head to look at Sam in confusion. His brother simply shrugs, looking just as confused as Dean is feeling. Dean decides to take the initiative, turning back around and slowly approaching the angel. He does it cautiously, like a spooked animal. He really wouldn’t like to be smote on the spot just by creeping up on Cas and startling him. “Cas?” He asks, testing the waters. The angel doesn’t seem to hear him. “Cas?” Dean slowly sits down on the couch next to his friend, and then, with one more glance towards Sam and Bobby, he reaches over and taps Cas on the shoulder.

The effect is instant. Cas’ eyes fly open, and he jumps a little, staring at Dean with wide eyes. “Hey man, it’s ok. Just me.” Cas visibly relaxes when he realizes who is in the room with him, letting his shoulders sink just a little bit.

“Oh. Hello, Dean.” Then, as if it’s an afterthought, he tilts his head in Sam and Bobby’s direction. “Sam. Bobby.”

“Cas?” Sam asks hesitantly. “You ok?”

“Yes. I was just thinking.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Dean laughs. “You didn’t move for an hour.”

“An hour?” Cas looks surprised. “Hmm. It did not feel that long. I apologize.”

“It’s fine. So, what were you thinking about?” Dean asks.

“I was talking to the angels.” And oh, great. This can only go well. Dean knows the angels and in the past, he’s never really appreciated their interference in, well, anything. “I was trying to find out if they knew anything about this new development.”

“And?”

“They seem to be just as in the dark as I am. Heaven is scrambling at the moment, trying to figure out what has happened as well.”

“Wait, hold on. What new development?” Bobby chimes in, and Cas fills him in on the details.

“Do you have any idea of what it could be, Cas?” Sam asks. He comes over and sits down on a chair across the coffee table from the couch.

“There are numerous... Possibilities…” The angel sounds unsure. “The only thing that was projected through ‘angel radio’ as you say were three words: I am coming.” An ominous silence fills the air as the three words sink in.

“I need a beer.” Bobby breaks the quiet, going off into the kitchen. Dean and his brother still sit there, lost in thought. Once Bobby leaves, It’s Dean who disrupts everyone’s thinking.

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

“I would like to know your definition of reassuring, Dean.” Dean looks over at him to see that the angel is doing his classic head-tilt eye-squint thing, clearly not understanding the sarcasm. Dean just rolls his eyes, too exasperated to explain the concept of sarcasm to Cas for what seems like the hundredth time since he’s known the guy.

“So, Cas?” Sam interrupts. “How are we supposed to know what’s going on?”

“I have a feeling heaven will know, or at least it will have the resources to find out.”

It’s at this point that Bobby reappears, popping open his own beer after handing one to both of the brothers. “You insulting my library?”

“No Bobby, I meant it as no offense to your library, however it does lack the Great Prophecies.”

“Woah, woah, woah, wait.” Dean interrupts. “Prophecies?”

Dean hates prophecies. Always had. Ever since the apocalypse and his so-called ‘destiny’, he’s always called them total bullshit. In his opinion, they can always be avoided or changed, and he doesn’t really care what those angel douchebags think.

Cas turns to Dean, sounding pretty sick of being interrupted all the time. “Yes, Dean. Heaven is in possession of all of the prophecies, from the Great Prophecies to simple changes in the weather. More likely than not, one of them could be of service to us.”

“Well then, what’re you waiting for? Go up and find us one.” Dean says, half-joking. Cas’ sour face tells him the angel did not pick up on the humor.

“I will try, Dean. I do warn you, it is going to take a while. There are hundreds of thousands of prophecies up there, and I still really have no idea what I’ll be looking for. And it’s not like heaven is too fond of me at the moment anyway.”

The last part Cas says under his breath, but loud enough for Dean to hear, sitting right next to him. “Wait, what was that Cas?”

Cas turns to look at him, appearing more tired than Dean thinks he’s ever seen him. “I’m not on heaven’s good side at the moment. This angel, Raphael-”

“A teenage mutant ninja turtle?”

“No, Dean. He’s an archangel. And his and his followers are not too fond of where my loyalties lie. They are attempting to seize control of heaven, but I as well as many others are fighting against that.”  
“Wait, are you talking, like, Civil War?” Cas nods gravely.

“Why haven’t you told us about this?” Dean asks quietly, trying to keep the hurt he feels out of his voice and failing miserably. Because that actually does hurt. He really did think that Cas trusted him and Sam enough to tell him these kinds of things. God, why does he feel like such a teenage girl lately?”

“It is my war to fight, Dean. I do not want to get you involved.” And Cas looks so set on it, so convinced that this is the absolute truth, that it makes Dean want to throw something.

“Like hell it is! If it’s your fight, it’s our fight, no argument.”

“Dean-”

“No, Cas! Whenever we’ve needed your help, you’ve always been there. You need help, we will always be there, you here?” And there it is. After the conversation with Sam in the car, he knew something like this was bound to happen. Dean doesn’t regret it in the slightest. Cas really needs to know how much they appreciate him. He’s looked even sadder lately, more tired. Dean supposes it has something to do with this Civil War that’s going on in heaven, but the guy just manages to depress the hell out of him every time he looks in his direction. The least Dean could do is let the dude know he cares enough not to let him fight an entire goddamn Civil War all by himself.

“Dean, I can’t ask-” Cas looks genuinely sad on Dean’s behalf. Dean doesn’t really care.

“Cas, shut it. So,” He continues, looking at Bobby, who has a look of surprise on his face, and Sam, who is trying to hide his smirk. Dean chooses to ignore his obnoxious little brother in favor of the problem at hand. “If Cas can’t get into heaven, we’re gonna have to find another way.”

“I believe that’s where I come in.” All heads turn to look at the newcomer, who has appeared with nothing more than a flutter of wings. Cas is the only one who doesn’t look completely shocked at the new presence.

“And who the hell are you?” Dean asks, trying to hide his shock, and failing miserably.

“Balthazar?” Cas asks when the newcomer doesn’t respond.

“Hello, Cassie. Long time no see.” He speaks in a British accent, with a snide undertone that Dean doesn’t usually hear from angels.

Cas stands up to walk over to the blond angel leaning against the doorway to the room. He moves with a sort of reverence, a shocked look on his face.

“Wait, Cas, you know this guy?” Dean asks, getting up from the couch to stand next to his friend.

“Yes, Balthazar, he’s- an old friend.” Cas directs it at Dean without tearing his gaze away from the other man, too enthralled to move. “I thought you were dead, brother.” Cas continues, now to Balthazar.

“Ah, yes, Cassie. My apologies, I wasn’t able to get in contact with anyone. You know, that would kinda ruin the whole ‘faking my death’ shtick.” Dean already doesn’t like this guy. He radiates sarcasm, even putting actual air quotes around his words. Whereas when Cas does it, it’s kind of endearing, on Balthazar it just comes off as douchey.

Cas doesn’t seem to mind the snarkiness. He’s probably either too used to it or doesn’t even know that it’s considered rude. “Why are you here?” Cas asks him.

“Well, because you said you needed help and I, well, really need something to do.”

“Woah, wait, how do you know we can trust you?” Sam, who has by now joined the conversation, butts in.

“Oh, _you_ can’t. I don’t expect you to.” Well, at least he’s ahead of the game. “But he

can.” Balthazar nods at Cas, who just stares back stoically. The original shock value of a long-dead brother has apparently already worn off considerably.

“Cas?” Dean asks him.

Cas turns to look at the hunter. “Yes, Dean. I will trust him. Balthazar was an honest soldier.”

“This guy? Honest?” Dean looks appalled. Sometimes he really questions Cas’ choice of friends. Balthazar makes an over exaggerated gesture of offense.

“Dean. That hurts my feelings. I am _incredibly_ trustworthy.”

Dean gives Cas another look. Cas’ response is a face of incredible seriousness. Dean sighs. “Fine. I guess if Cas trusts you that means that I do too. But that does not mean I like you.” Dean snaps at him.

“Well, that’s settled then!” Balthazar says cheerily with a clap of his hands. Dean turns to give Sam an exasperated look, but when he turns back around, Balthazar is gone.

“I’m not even surprised anymore,” Dean mutters under his breath. He turns back to Cas, who looks utterly unsurprised at what just happened. “So, what are you going to do now? Sit here and wait for angel-douche to get back?” He asks the angel.

Cas turns to him. “I don’t know. Do you need any help?”

“No, I don’t-” Dean starts, but Bobby interrupts him.

“Damn right you do.” He says, giving Dean a pointed look. “Some poor group of teenagers has been reported missing somewhere in Louisiana.”

“And how do you know this is our kind of gig?” Dean asks the man skeptically.

“Oh, I don’t. But it’s the best lead we’ve got so far.”

“Good enough for me.” Dean claps his hands together, looking between Cas and his brother. “Let’s get on the road.”

***

It’s about a 15-hour drive from Sioux Falls to Hutton, Louisiana. The trip itself is rather uneventful, with the occasional conversation here or there about where to eat or stop for gas. The only real difference is that Cas is in the car with them. Which isn’t even a difference really, as he doesn’t make a noise the whole way down there that it’s incredibly easy to forget he’s even there.

It can also be really uncomfortable at times. About halfway through the drive, Dean is talking to Sam about the case, and then suddenly asks “Hey, why don’t we call Cas, maybe he knows”.

Cas pipes up from the backseat, “I’m right here, Dean.”

And with that, Dean jumps about four feet out of his seat, yelling “Damn it Cas! How long have you been there?”

Cas tilts his head in that adorable confused-owl look. “I’ve been here the whole time, Dean.” The car ride is silent for the next five minutes while Dean tries to catch his breath and Sam tries to stop snickering.

Other than this process being repeated roughly four times along the way, they get there unscathed.

They arrive at Hutton Louisiana is a rural town, relatively quiet and reserved. Dean can feel it as he drives through the empty roads lined with towering trees on all sides. Occasionally the trees open up to reveal a farm for a few seconds, then the forest will swallow them whole again. The roads are narrow and empty, with the occasional car passing by.

Finally, they reach a little town. It is only a few blocks of small businesses, with a diner, general store (seriously, who has _general stores_ anymore), and, bingo, a motel. It’s roughly on par with what they’re used to, so it’s pretty much a dump. Nonetheless, they get a room and settle in. Since it’s only ten o’clock in the morning, the group heads back out of the room to immediately start working the case.

The three of them walk into Hutton’s police station. It is tiny, with only a few offices. Judging by the peeling paint and cracks in the floor, it’s pretty clear the town doesn’t have a lot of funding. Desks are littered around, cluttered and spilling over with paperwork. There aren’t many desks. There probably aren’t that many cops, leaving the few of them with a lot of paperwork. The whole scene is oddly refreshing. It feels homier somehow, more natural.

The sheriff approaches them. He’s roughly a full foot shorter than Dean, with an enormous smile on his face. He’s rather round and going bald, but that doesn’t seem to stop him from being one of the cheeriest people Dean’s ever met.

Dean flashes his badge, followed shortly by Sam, and, once he got the memo, Cas as well. Sam initiates conversation. “Hello, Sheriff…?”

“O’Malley.” He chirps. His voice matches his image perfectly, and Dean has a sudden urge to puke from the happiness that simply radiates from the man. “But you can just call me Stan.”

“Alright, um, Stan. I’m Agent Briggs, and these are my partners, Agent Marks and Jacobs. We’re here about the recent disappearances.”

“Ah, yes.” He shakes his head. His mood shifts and he looks genuinely torn up about the situation. “Nasty business, that. I know their families, they were good kids.”

“Yes, we’re very sorry, but my partners and I are here to help.” Sam puts on his sympathetic face. It’s the reason they always send him to talk to the disturbed victim of practically all of their cases. Dean admits he’s a little jealous over the fact that Sam can practically make anyone trust him with a simple puppy-dog face and some sympathetic words. It never goes as well when Dean tries it. He supposes it’s because he doesn’t have nearly as much patience with people like that. He sighs as the sheriff turns and starts walking away, waving for the three of them to follow.

Sam ends up walking next to the sheriff, and since the hallway is rather small, Dean ends up next to Cas. “You okay, Buddy?” Cas turns to look at him. The man hasn’t said anything since they walked in, and it’s making Dean uneasy.

“Yes, I am fine Dean.” And that’s that.

“Alright.” Dean nods his head, ending that conversation.

The sheriff shows them to his office. It’s clearly the biggest one here, and it still can only barely fit his desk and three chairs for the hunters. They all take a seat and Stan hands Sam a folder. After a minute of nothing but the soft rustle of Sam flipping through the folder, he finally says something. “There’s not much here.” He remarks.

Sam hands the folder to Dean and he takes his turn to look through it. Pictures, last known locations, statements from the families. There are four of them, three boys and one girl. From the pictures, they look like simple, normal teenagers. Sam’s right though. There isn’t much to go on. It’s gonna be tough to find them, if they’re even still alive.

“Yeah.” Stan answers. “Nobody really knows where they were when they disappeared. It’s kind of a mystery.”  
“Do any of them have any friends that might’ve known what they were doing?”

“Not to our knowledge. As far as we know, they were a very tightly-knit group, staying mostly to themselves.”

“Alright.” Sam sighs in defeat. “Well, thank you for your help, Sheriff.” The three of them stand and shake Stan’s hand, retreating out of the sheriff’s station. They wait until they leave the building to start talking about the case.

“So. You sure this is our kind of gig? Just sounds like some stupid kids got lost in the woods. Which, by the way, there’s a hell of a lot of woods around here, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Come on, Dean. This is the only possible case we’ve found in months. The least we can do is try. We’re not exactly busy.”

“Fine.” Dean gives in grudgingly. “Where do we start?”

“Well, I’d say we start with the school. See if any of the students know the kids or where they might have gone.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Dean, why don’t you take Cas to the school. I’m gonna walk around town, see if any of the locals know anything.”

Dean nods and beckons for the angel to follow him. They both get in the car without a word. Dean pulls away from the curb and heads over to the high school while watching Sam head over to a random house in the rearview mirror.

“Cas, you okay?” Cas turns to look at him with a questioning look, almost as if he’s wondering why Dean’s concerned at all.

“Yes, Dean. I do not understand why you keep asking me that.”

Dean rolls his eyes, frustrated at the fact that he can never get the man to talk about, well, anything. Especially feelings. Huh, they must be more similar than he thought. “You sure? You’ve been out of it ever since we left Bobby’s.”

“I am simply deep in thought.”

“About?” He hates that he always has to prompt Cas for almost everything.

“Prophecies, they come true all the time. Every day, they’re always happening, coming true. Things as simple as the forecast for the day, or who’s going to fall ill. They happen all the time.”

“Okay, so?”

“I’m concerned. The angels, they’re confused. Scared. They have no idea what’s happening. I’ve never seen them like this.” He pauses. He only continues when Dean starts to wonder if he’s finished or not. “I have no idea what’s happening. And I’m scared, Dean.”

He gives Dean a look. It’s tired, but there’s something behind that. Fear. He never realized that angels could be scared. They’ve always come across as invincible, as untouchable. At this moment, Cas looks the most human that he’s ever seen him. He’s not used to not knowing. Everything has been predicted for him, laid out in a neat line all the way to the end. The fear of the unknown, of the unpredictable, is probably one of the scariest things he’s experienced. And it probably doesn’t help that he’s cut off from heaven, not able to talk to any of his brothers, try to figure it out with them. Dean can see the panic rising behind his friend's eyes, and it scares him too. He’s never seen Cas like this.

“Hey, buddy, it’s gonna be okay, alright?” Dean tries to look at the angel as much as he can, but he has to keep turning his head to the road every once in a while. “We’re gonna figure this out. We always do, right?”

Cas nods silently, and though he doesn’t look totally convinced, he seems a little less tense. They finish out the five-minute car ride in silence.

Dean pulls the Impala into the small parking lot and stares at the shoddy looking school. It is an incredibly small building, at least for a school. The words Hutton High look like they’re about to crumble off the sign at any moment. Dean gives Cas a look, shrugs, and gets out of the car.

The pair walks up the narrow concrete walkway with weeds growing through the cracks and into the school. It is only one floor, and when they get inside, Dean notices just how drab it is. The hallways are designed with light puke green accents off white walls. The tile of the walls and floor is chipping severely. There must be class at the moment because the hallways are pretty deserted. Cas gives Dean a wary look. Dean just shrugs. There’s not much else to say, except that it would really suck to go to school here.

The turn and head down the right hallway, and stop at the door labeled ‘office’. It’s a tiny room with a small cheery blond woman crammed behind an old looking desk. Stacks of paper are everywhere, overflowing filing cabinets and folders littering the tiny space. The name on the desk reads “Ms. Conner”

Apparently everyone in this town seems incredibly happy, despite the lack of money, however, because the woman, supposedly Ms. Conner, behind the desk gives Dean the biggest smile he’s ever seen. “Good morning! What can I do for you?”

“Hi, Ma’am, I’m Agent Marks, and this is my partner, Agent Jacobs.” Cas seems to finally be getting the hang of this whole ‘Federal Agent’ thing, as he whips out his badge and shows it to her without needing a hard shove in the ribs. Dean admits he’s a little proud. “We’re here looking into the disappearance of Cindy Louis, Brandon Devney, Jake Servi, and Stephen Goldstein.” He tucks his back into his pocket and nods at Cas for him to do the same.

When he turns back around, the sweet woman’s face has turned sad. “Ah, yes. I figured you people would come.”

“Do you know of anyone we can talk to about it?”

“You can talk to me.” A voice comes from behind them, and Dean and Cas turn around. This man must be the principal. He doesn’t look terribly wealthy, with a well-worn suit and tie, but his hair and clean-shaven face show that he really is trying to be presentable. He reaches out and shakes both men’s hand with a smile. “Don Demarro, nice to meet you. Nasty business, ain’t it? We don’t get many happenings like this in this town.” He shrugs. “They were good kids, so I hear.”

“Mr. Demarro, do you happen to have a list of the kids’ teachers?”

“Oh, yes, of course. They probably know more about the kids than I do.” He goes over to an overflowing filing cabinet and rifles around in it for a few minutes, finally managing to pick out four separate folders. “This includes all of their schedules. It should help.”

Dean takes the four folders, immediately handing two of them over to Cas, who goes through them as if they hold all of life’s mysteries. Dean rolls his eyes at the adorable little crease of concentration in his forehead. God, where the hell did that thought come from?

“Thank you Mr. Demarro. We’ll let you know if we need anything else.”

“My pleasure, agents.”

Dean starts to leave, having to grab Cas’ trenchcoat and pull him, with him being so concentrated on the file. “Oh, and agents?” The blond woman pipes up again. They turn back to look at her. “Bring them home safe? Please?”

“We’re going to try our best, Ms.” Dean pairs the sentence with his best sympathetic smile. It’s nowhere near as good as Sam’s puppy eyes, but it does the job.

“Thank you.” She leaves them with a sad smile as the two leave the office, turning left down the hallway to the first teacher on the list.

“Why did you lie to her?” Cas asks Dean when they’re well out of hearing range.

“What do you mean?”

“The kids, they’re most likely dead. It’s been a week, and there’s been no sign of a ransom.” Cas says it completely deadpan, clearly not knowing the implications that sentence would have if they said it to the woman.

“Well, Cas, I really don’t think a grieving woman would really appreciate that.”

“Yes, I understand. But why lie?”

“I didn't lie Cas. I said I’d try my best, and that’s exactly what we're gonna do.” They go silent after that.

Dean stops as room 89. It has a sign next to the door that says “Mrs. Whitaker”. The class inside is noisy, but when Dean looks through the window, the woman sitting at the desk is silently grading something. Dean turns around and nods his head at Cas, before opening the door and heading inside.

They both approach the desk. Mrs. Whitaker is an older woman with brown hair pulled back into a severe bun. She looks up with narrowed eyes at their approach. Dean flashes his badge at her and he can only hope Cas is doing the same behind him. “Good morning, Mrs. Whitaker. We were hoping to ask you a few questions about the missing students.” He tries to keep his voice quiet for the kids behind him, but it turns out he doesn’t really need to. After the initial shock of two FBI agents entering their classroom, they don’t really seem to care much. Mrs. Whitaker simply nods her head, encouraging them to proceed.

“Well that was a bust,” Dean says for what feels like the thousandth time, exiting yet another classroom.

“Yes,” Cas says simply. They’ve interviewed 7 teachers already, all of them unknowing to the kids’ hobbies or pastimes.

“Well, we’ve got one more. Let’s pray.”

“That doesn’t seem like the most logical option. I doubt my brothers could help in this situation.”

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Metaphor.”

“Ah. Of course.”

They enter the final classroom and approach the smiling teacher. “Mr. Barrera?” They ask him a few standard questions before the bell rings. It’s a terrible noise, reminding Dean of every shitty school he ever went to. He can’t help but cringe, getting an odd look from Cas in the process. The students all rise from their seats, packing up their backpacks and exiting the classroom in a cluster. “Do you have any idea of what they usually like to do? Anywhere they usually go?”

“Are you talking about the missing kids?”

Dean whips around at the new voice and almost shits himself. The girl is what you would call ‘goth’. Pale white face, ramrod straight hair that looks like it hasn’t been washed in weeks, and clothing that would even make some of the ghosts they’ve fought jealous. Her makeup is unnaturally heavy, making her look like she has two eyes black eyes. She also looks incredibly sad.

“Uh… yeah…” Dean answers intelligently.

“I know where they went.”

Dean looks at Cas in surprise. “You do?” She nods, then side-eyes the teacher warily. Dean gets the memo and excuses himself from the room along with Cas and the girl. They stand outside in the hallway as the students mill around them, on the way to their next class.

“I was friends with Cindy.” Dean doesn’t overlook the use of past tense. She must be the realist in this situation. “She liked this guy. Jake.” He recognizes these names as the people who are missing. “They were playing truth or dare one day when she was at Brandon’s house. Stephen dared her to go and visit the Myer’s factory.”

“Wait, the Myer’s factory?”

“Yeah. There are a bunch of legends about it. It’s supposed to be haunted.”

Dean looks at Cas. Bingo.

“Anyway,” She continues, “She didn’t want to come off as scared to Jake, you know how girls can be.” Dean finds it weird that she talks about girls like that, with her being one, but she doesn’t question it. “So she took the dare. They scheduled the trip for a few days later. She told me this the day after in school. They left on Friday night, and, well, never came back.” Dean can see how she’s slowly wilting more and more throughout the story. She must have really liked Cindy.

“Well...”

She takes the hint and finishes the sentence for him. “Alice.”

“Alice. That was a huge help. Thank you.”

She nods, giving them a sad smile. And with a shake of her hand, they walk out of the school.

“So?” Dean asks when they get back to the Impala. “Research?”

Cas nods in agreement. “Research.”

***

“Jackpot.” Sam huffs out a laugh. He’s pulled up the page on the history of the nearby factory.

“You found it?” Dean walks over and leans over Sam’s shoulder to read the article.

“Yeah. This is definitely it.” Sam leans in further to read the article. “It says that this dude who used to own it, Glenn Myers, died in an ‘accident’ in the factory in the middle of an inspection. Nobody knows how it happened to this day.” Sam gives him a pointed look and Dean nods.

Dean stands up and pointlessly looks up at the ceiling. “Yo, Cas, I think we’ve got something.” He means to continue, but it turns to be a meaningless endeavor, as the angel appears out of nowhere at the very moment Dean finishes his thought.

“Where, Dean?”

“Man, you’re really not one for subtlety, are you, Cas?” Dean asks him sarcastically.

“I’ve never seen the point of subtlety. It is rather unnecessary in my-”

“Okay, we get it Cas.” Dean cuts him off, feigning annoyance.

“Hey Cas, come check it out.” Sam cuts in, interrupting the beginning of an intense bitch-face battle between the angel and his brother. Cas turns and heads over to Sam, both brothers looking to the other man, waiting for confirmation.

“This does appear to be what we’re looking for.” He turns around. “I would also like to point out that Glenn Myers died of poisoning, more specifically Clostridium botulinum, which is nearly impossible to detect unless you’re looking for it. It was injected to a sample of meat that he tasted during the inspection and acted quickly.”

“Gee, Cas. Thanks for ruining the mystery of it all.” Dean rolls his eyes.

“My pleasure,” Cas answers, again oblivious to his sarcasm.

“Why did someone want to kill him?” Sam asks, genuinely curious now.

“A competitor. Zachary Newsome knew Glenn had no relatives or friends to pass the business off to, so he eliminated him from the board.” Cas explains.

“Damn, those meat-packing tycoons mean business.” Dean snorts at the idea.

“The meat-packing industry is surprisingly cutthroat.” Cas deadpans and nods solemnly. Dean can’t help but snort at the bluntness of his friend.

“Alright!” Sam claps his hands together and jumps up from his chair. “We’ll go in the morning.” Dean was so engrossed in the case, he hasn’t noticed that it’s become rather late already. Damn, time sure does fly.

Sam spins on his heel, way too happy about this case for his own good. Dean rolls his eyes as his brother’s enthusiasm when the younger Winchester makes a beeline for the shower. Dean turns around to face Cas, who hasn’t moved in the slightest. “Hey, Cas. Don’t mean to be rude, but are you gonna stay here?”

The other man shrugs. “I suppose if you let me.”

“Yeah, of course, Cas. But, uh, I thought you didn’t need sleep?”

Cas looks at him steadily, making Dean increasingly uncomfortable. “I do not. I will watch over you.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “Uh, no. That’s not happening.”

Cas does that stupid little head tilt and eye squint that, somehow, is even more effective than Sam’s kicked puppy look, and after a few seconds, Dean finally gives in. “Alright, fine. But you can watch over Sam. That’s just creepy dude.”

And with that, Sam steps out of the bathroom, scrubbing his shaggy mane of hair with a towel. They fall into their nightly routine, and by the time Dean has shut off the rickety old lamp on the nightstand, Cas has moved a solid three feet to the nearest chair. “Creep,” Dean mutters as he rolls over, facing away from the angel. He doesn’t care what anyone says, he still thinks it’s creepy as hell.

“I heard that, Dean.” If the room weren’t so quiet, Dean would’ve missed it. He gives the angel the slightest chuckle.

“G’night, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

***

In the morning, they pack all their stuff up. The case seems pretty clear cut, so they don’t expect to be back another night. Cas left early, gone before Dean woke up. He doesn’t question it. He just assumes he’ll meet them there.

The factory is far, in a place that can only be described as ‘off the beaten path’. And that’s putting it nicely.

They drive for about twenty minutes up a long stretch of road that winds its way up a hill. There’s a huge expanse of farmland off to their left, with towering trees to their right. It’s odd, nonetheless.

With a flap of wings, Cas suddenly appears in the backseat. “Dude, you’ve gotta stop doing that man,” Dean says, but by this point, he’s a little more used to it. He doesn’t jump nearly as much as normal.

“The road is up here.” He says, completely ignoring Dean, who rolls his eyes.

“Where?” Sam asks him.

“There,” Cas says sharply, just as Baby pulls past a clump of bushes. Dean slams on the brakes. Cas is pointing to the clump of bushes, which he now realizes are parted a bit to allow for a narrow footpath that winds away into the forest.

“Guess we’re walking from here,” Dean states, matter-of-factly.

A few minutes later find the group traipsing through the narrow path, weighed down with their shotguns (filled with salt rounds, of course) and various iron knives. Oh, except for Cas, who claimed to not have needed it. “I am an angel, Dean, it cannot harm me.” Cas had explained, and Dean had rolled his eyes and replied with “Well if you die don’t come haunting my ass.” Which then resulted in an argument about if angels could become ghosts.

“I’m just saying, Cas, that if you left me like a piece of your hair or something you would be tied to something here.”

“Dean, I do not have hair. You could take my vessel’s hair, which would be useless, as he has already moved on to the afterlife.”

“So you expect me to believe that your super-special true form doesn’t have kind of body part that could break off and tie you here?”

“Well, actually, I supp-”

“Guys, shut up for a second.” Sam interrupts. Which is really a shame, Dean was looking forward to hearing more about Cas’ true form. It’s quite impressive, from what he’s heard.

“What, Sam?” Dean whispers. Both Dean and the angel immediately slip into hunter mode, crouching down a little and looking around the place instinctively.

“Do you hear that?” Sam asks, and the other two strain their ears to catch the noise that Sam could be talking about.

“Um, no Sam.” Dean looks at his brother with a puzzled look.

Realization dawns on Cas’ face though, and Dean gets frustrated with how he is now the only one apparently in the dark. “Nothing.” Cas whispers.

“So?” Dean asks, still not getting it. Sam turns to his brother with an exasperated look.

“Dean, we’re in the forest. There should be _some_ kind of noise, right?”

Sam is right. Now that Dean thinks about it, there aren’t any normal ‘forest’ sounds. No birds chirping, no streams gushing, there’s not even a breeze to rustle any branches. Even their walking and crunching the leaves below them seems awfully muffled, like there’s a filter over this whole area of the forest. It gives off an incredibly weird vibe.

“We can’t even see the building yet, why the hell is it so creepy like this? You ever felt anything like this?” Dean looks to his brother, hoping he’ll have some sort of explanation. Sam just shrugs in response.

“There's something else about this place that we are missing.” Cas proceeds to state the obvious. Dean refrains from rolling his eyes. “There is an unusual presence here that is much more than the simple haunting that we originally thought.”

Dean gives him a sideways look. “What’d’ ya mean by ‘presence’?”

“Yeah, Cas, that sounds pretty ominous,” Sam adds.

“Whatever it is, it may not even be here anymore. But it is strong enough to deter any living creature for at least a half mile radius from the building.”

The brothers share a concerned look. “Well, that’s welcoming.” Dean breaks the uncomfortable silence. “Let’s keep going.”

Because Winchesters are dumb like that.

Roughly 10 minutes later, the oppressing brush breaks away, opening up to a massive clearing where the imposing, empty shell of a building stands. Behind a ten-foot chain-link fence. Topped with barbed wire.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean sighs.

“Here. Let me.” Cas pushes his way in front of the brothers and lays his hand on the metal fence. Suddenly the section the three are standing by glows white hot, and a hole appears, roughly the size of the three men, the metal simply melting away.

“Neat party trick, Cas,” Dean tells the angel.

Cas looks back at him with his trademark squinty-eye-confused-head-tilt thing. “I do not see how this is in any way a party, nor is my grace a trick,” Cas replies, completely deadpan.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Cas, that’s not-”

“It’s quite real, Dean.” Dean stares at the angel with as much sarcasm as he can.

“Hey, guys? Hate to break up all the staring, but we might wanna find out what’s going on here.” Sam butts in, shaking Dean out of his trance.

“Yeah, let’s keep moving. C’mon Cas, lead the way.” The angel steps through the fence first, right out onto the gravel of the yard. Dean sees the angel blade drop down from wherever the hell Cas keeps that thing, and proceeds pull his pistol from his jeans, prepared for a fight. A glance over at his brother reveals that Sam has followed suit.

“Where the hell do we start?” Sam asks.

And isn’t that the million dollar question. The compound is freaking huge. It’s gonna be hard enough to find an entrance let alone a couple of druggie kids.

“Split up?” Dean looks over at his brother. He can see Sam start to shrug before Cas cuts in.

“No.” Dean recognizes that tone. It means that this particular topic is not up for discussion.

“Dude, Cas, this place is freaking huge. There's no way we're gonna be able to find this ghost unless we can cover more-”

“No.” He repeats and turns around to look at the brothers. “Dean, there's another presence here. I don't think it's dangerous, but I don't like it either way.”

“Ok, Cas.” Sam raises his arms in surrender. “Where do we start then?”

“Top floor. Work our way down.” Cas suggests, though it doesn’t sound like a suggestion.

“Wouldn’t it be more likely for a ghost to be in some creepy basement somewhere than the top floor?” Dean asks him.

“I… suppose?” Cas tilts his head and squints at the hunter. “Whatever you think would be best, Dean.”

“Alrighty then.” Dean claps his hands together. “Let’s go through the ground floor and look for any creepy basements.” He declares, far too cheerily. Sam rolls his eyes.

They walk along the perimeter until they find an entrance and head inside the firm metal door.

The place is a maze of halls and rooms. Who knew a freaking meat-packing plant could be so huge and complex? After a good while of smaller corridors, the hallway opens up into a huge room. It’s at least three stories tall and has a row of garage doors off to one side. This must be the loading dock.

And in the middle…

“Damn it,” Dean whispers. He kind of knew for a while, but it still sucks to see the bodies of the four kids they’d been trying to find.

“Shit,” Sam adds. The group heads over to the bodies, which look to be roughly a week old. The timeline adds up, with this being a Thursday. It must have happened the night that Alice got told about what the group was planning.

Fuck. Dean knew it was unlikely that they’d survived this long with a ghost, they don’t tend to keep their victims alive for any extended period of time, but seeing the pale, lifeless faces of four teenagers will never exactly be something on the top of Dean’s bucket list.

All of his depressing thoughts about death and these poor saps go right out the window when he feels himself being flung across the room into a pile of boxes.

He distantly hears Sam’s shout of “Dean!” ring across the open space as he groggily gets to his feet. The ghost of Glenn Myers stands in the middle of the room, and yikes. Not a pretty guy, by any means. Dean almost laughs at the absurdity of being tossed across the room by a guy at least a foot shorter than him and twice as round.

The ghost starts to move towards him, clearly set on taking Dean out, before a crowbar passes right through him, dissolving the figure. “Thanks, Sammy.” Dean manages, a little winded.

“No problem, Dean,” Sam replies.

“Cas, go check in a basement or something. This guy practically lived here. Maybe his body’s still here.” Dean nods at the door on the opposite side of the room that he’s only just noticing is flung wide open. Which honestly, should have been the first clue that something wasn’t right.

Sam turns to him. “The dude seems trained on you for some reason. Dunno why. Maybe he’ll keep coming after you?”

“Worth a shot. Should we follow Cas down there just in case?”

“Might as well.” Sam shrugs.

As it turns out, the ghost does seem to like Dean, as in the span of two minutes, they’ve had to fight it off at least three times at this point.

“Sam heads up!” Dean shouts, aiming his shotgun directly over Sam’s left shoulder. He shoots the thing as it’s about two feet away from his brother’s head. Sam squeezes his eyes shut and tenses up immediately.

“Dude, warn a guy next time you’re gonna shoot at his head, please?” Sam asks his brother with one of his iconic bitch faces.

“I did!” Dean fires back.

“Dean, you said heads up, not like, I dunno, duck maybe?”

“Nah, that was way more fun. And pretty awesome, I might add.” They are standing at the top of the stairs, and with the ghost not appearing as an immediate threat right now, they decide to head down the stairs. The narrow decent threatens to give Dean claustrophobia, what with the tightness, the fact that it is dark as fuck down here, and how the structure below them sounds like it's about to break apart any second.

Across the room, Dean sees a match light, just as the ghost pops up again right in front of him. Sam gets yanked down the stairs, who tumbles into Dean, sending the two men sprawling across the floor.

“Cas, drop the match!” Dean yells at him. He reaches for his shotgun, but it’s just out of reach. Just as the ghost is bearing down on him and Dean is thinking, _Well fuck_ , the apparition bursts into flames.

Dean releases a heavy breath and lets his head fall back against the wall. “Perfect timing there Cas. A plus.” He gives an “ok” gesture in the general direction of where he thinks the angel might be.

Cas isn’t responding, and he looks over to where the body is burning. He’s not there anymore. “Cas?” He starts to get up.

“Dean.” There’s something off about Cas’ voice. It’s the same tone he had yesterday in the car, and it has Dean immediately rushing over to his voice.

“What’s wrong Cas?” Sam comes up behind Dean and shines his flashlight where the angel is looking, and the beam lands on… a skeleton.

“Yikes,” Sam says. That pretty much sums it up.

Still, that doesn’t explain why Cas is looking at it like Lucifer just popped back up from the pit.

The angel approaches it cautiously, then rests his palm on the skeleton’s forehead. A shiver runs through him and he pulls his hand away like he’s been burned.

Dean steps up cautiously and places a hand warily on Cas’ shoulder. “Hey, is everything ok?”

“No, Dean. I don’t think so.”


End file.
